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“I
’M
afraid you’re going to have to leave,” I tell the dark-haired beauty crawling towards me on the floor of my suite.

Her mouth drops open and she stops crawling, but my attention is on her hair. It’s dragging across the floor and picking up dust. I need to speak to the maids about the dust.

“What?” she asks, as she goes from crawling to kneeling. That has got to hurt her knees. Pressing against tile like that. “Did I do something wrong?”

She’s almost perfect. Almost being the key word. She’s very tall and thin, the physique of a model, really. Willowy is the word to describe her. All arms and legs. Small breasts, but they are nice enough. As is her ass. She’s obedient. But—

“I can change, whatever it is. I can change.”

I sigh. I hate having to dismiss the girls. It bothers me when I have to spell it out. I always tell them before we start, this is nothing but sex. But they only hear what they want to hear. Something akin to
This is more than sex, I want you by my side forever
? Maybe. I’m not sure. Whatever they hear, it’s not,
Thanks for the good time, now get the hell out
, because that’s what my mind is saying.

“You can keep your job here at the resort. In fact, I’ll still pop in for yoga every now and then, if that’s OK.”

“Just tell me what I did. I’ll fix it.”

“I’ll include a bonus in your next check if it dulls the sting.”

“I didn’t tell anyone about you, Master.”

“I know. You did everything right.” They never just take the money and leave. Ever. They never make it easy for me.

“Then why? Can’t I ask why? Don’t I deserve an explanation?” She’s on her feet now, walking towards me.

I put up a hand and she stops. “I don’t like you. It’s that simple.” I stand up and walk towards her so she can’t take control. Her doe eyes look up at me, pleading. But my decision has been made. I’m done. I cup her face and stare down at her. “You’re simply not perfect. And that’s all there is to it. Your imperfections are glaring. It was nice fucking you. Good luck and goodbye.”

Chapter Three

#NotPrinceCharming

I
SCAN
the guests as they pull up to the resort valet. Most are family. We have a huge family. I have seven aunts and uncles on my father’s side alone. And my mother is a twin and has two older sisters. Every one of them has at least three children.

Sending that girl away this morning is still a flicker of irritation in the back of my mind. She has no room to complain. They never have any room to complain when I dismiss them. But they always do.

Some of them want the fame, I suppose. As if I’d ever take one of my submissive playthings out in public as my girlfriend. I laugh at that as I watch my family pour out of the limos down below. These silly girls and their fantasies. I’ve had so many of them over the years and not one ever made it to an event on my arm. You’d think they’d pick up on that, but they don’t. They always assume they are the first for some reason. The Prince Charming complex, maybe. I’m their savior. They all think money is the answer, but money is the devil. Money is the problem. Money is never enough.

It takes them a while to realize this, but they all realize it eventually. This last one I’m not so sure about. One night was all it was ever meant to be. She must’ve been craving it. That slave-master relationship. Either that or she’s been in one before, because she was ready and willing to do everything I commanded.

I feel sorry for her, but when I’m done, I’m done. And she was never my type anyway, she was just here. She was a shrug. An afterthought. A side dish. She never came close to girlfriend material.

No. The subs are never girlfriend material. They are toys. And maybe all the women I date are toys, to some extent. But none of the women I date publicly get their asses spanked red or their hair pulled as I fuck them from behind.

I crave the dirty, but only in private.

My thumb rubs circles over my brow as I desperately try to ease the tension from having to spell it out for her. Why can’t they just stick to the agreement? Why do they always have to stick around afterward, forcing me to humiliate them further in the stark glare of morning daylight?

A van pulls up and I stop the introspection to observe. A van? Who in my family is arriving in an airport shuttle?

The side door slides open and two girls are inside. They are smiling and giggling. One is dark—in fact, she reminds me of that dismissed sub. But the other… I stop and catch my breath as she places one sandaled foot outside the vehicle and steps into the tropical sun. The driver doesn’t even get out to help them with their luggage, just accepts the payment and drives off as soon as the door closes.

The girls stare up at the resort and I duck a little, making sure they don’t spot me spying. “Vaughn,” I chastise myself. “Get a grip.”

They disappear inside and I’m left thinking about the girl with the blonde hair. She was pretty. Is she a guest for the party? I get out my cell and call the front desk. Javel picks up on the first ring.

“Who are those two women checking in?”

“Excuse me, ladies, I have to take this call,” he says. A few seconds later a door closes and he’s back. “I’m sorry, sir, they were on the approved list. They are…” He hesitates and I get a little annoyed at him making me wait.

“They’re who?” I prod.

“Honeymooners. I was told not to cancel the honeymooners.”

“OK, thank you.” I end the call.

Hmmm. I keep my eye on them.

I
PASS
the evening drinking alone in what I call the Crow’s Nest. It’s a small alcove separate from the upstairs bar that looks down onto the front of the resort. It’s almost midnight before I make it back to my house. I strip out of my clothes and dive into the pool. The crash of waves filters up from the beach that’s less than a hundred yards down a pebble-covered path.

I want to fuck someone so bad. I need to bend the will of a new submissive and I need to do that soon.

Chapter Four

#SurpriseMe

J
UST
so you understand, my hashtag brilliance doesn’t come quick and easy. It takes me some time to come up with just the right tweet. I completely understand that Mr. Asher’s time is valuable and that’s why I take such care in my composition.

@VaughnAsher My fantasy: The soft tropical breeze caressing my bare pussy right now is really your invisible tongue on my clit.

He played the Invisible Man in that last superhero movie, get it? I chuckle softly to myself as I sit at the resort bar. Bebe and I are on our fake honeymoon. It’s a long story, but she won this trip for two to Saint Thomas in a contest and since neither of us plan on getting married anytime soon, we came together.

Her new boyfriend Steve showed up last night as a surprise and since I’m not a bitch, I told her to go have fun with him. He should’ve been the one here with her anyway, but I’ve never been to the Caribbean, so Bebe took me instead.

Anyway, back to my tweet. I still have a few characters left and it kills me not to use them all, so I ponder it a little more as I swing my foot to the bar music. Saint Thomas is a fantastic place. The beaches are lined with spectacular white sand and the water is a color of blue that I just can’t describe. Our hotel is fabulous—way, way, way out of my price range—but since the contest was a honeymoon package, we have to share a bed. And now that her boyfriend Steve decided to join us, well, I’ll probably be sleeping on the beach tonight because the rattan couch on the bungalow patio has my back all in a crick.

Not that I care too much that Steve is here. It takes a lot to get me riled up. I’m the kind of girl who lets things go. Steve is OK and Bebe has always been so good to me, so a night on a tropical beach is hardly a sacrifice so they can share the room and have some real privacy in paradise.

“Another drink?” the bartender asks me as he strolls by to check on this end of the bar. There’s no one over here but me, so that’s sweet that he’s paying attention. Of course my bikini top is pretty small so maybe he’s just trying to cop a look at my girls?

“Yes, please,” I say as I continue to play around with my phone. “I want another martini, but this time”—I look up and bat my blue eyes at the dark, handsome man pouring drinks today—“surprise me.”

“How about I pick?” a rough, sexy voice asks over my shoulder. “Let the lady try the key lime pie.”

“Hmmm.” I hum to myself as I continue to rearrange today’s perfect dirty tweet so I get the hashtag in just the right place. “Thanks a bunch. But lime is not my thing, so”—I look up at the bartender who’s got his eyebrows raised to the ceiling as he waits for my response—“I’ll let you choose.” I give the hot bartender a flirty wink and he lets off a hearty laugh.

“You sure about that?” he asks in his Caribbean English. “Maybe the lime is not so bad.”

“Oh, no.” I put up my hand and laugh with him. “I’m sure.” I hike my thumb back over my shoulder. “Mr. Buttinski here can order himself a key lime pie martini. I want
you
to choose”—I look at the name tag on his resort shirt—“Dewain.” I smile at him and then go back to my tweet, the matter settled.

“Have it your way, but I think I tried them all last night and this one is definitely the best. And I only bother with the best,” that husky voice replies behind me. He reaches over my shoulder, pressing his body up against mine in a way that creates an explosion of chills down my arms, and then places a ten-dollar bill on the bar. “It’s on me.”

I swivel around on my bar stool to see who this guy is, but he’s already turned away, so all I catch is a muscled back. It’s tan. And hard-looking. My eyes travel south to the curve of his perfect globes. He’s wearing a pair of lime green board shorts and that makes me smile.

“Nice shorts,” I call out after him.

He glances over his shoulder and I catch a smirking grin before he rounds the corner and calls back, “Nice tweet.”

“Oh, shit,” I mumble to myself. I click out of the app and blush. “How embarrassing.” At least he couldn’t see my Twitter handle and Mr. Asher’s handle was mostly covered up by my thumb, so he probably didn’t see who it was for, either. “Eek!” I say under my breath. I hope I don’t see
him
again.

“There you are!” Bebe says as she skips under the thatched-roof hut of the beach bar. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Oh my God, Bebe, some random hot dude just caught me composing a tweet! I think he read it!”

“Hmm,” she says with a wide smile. “Did he frown or laugh?”

“I’m not sure, he was walking away before I knew he saw it.” I hold the phone up and she nabs it out of my hand.

“Let me see.” Her laugh turns into a squeal as she reads it. “Bare pussy, tongue, and clit all in the same tweet.” She laughs again. “Girl, no man will frown at that.”

“One key lime martini for the lady,” Dewain the bartender says as he sets the drink down in front of me with a conspiratorial wink. “This one really is the best, the man does not lie, so this is the one I choose for you.” And then he picks up the ten-dollar bill key lime shorts guy left and walks off to help a couple who just arrived.

“What’s that all about?” Bebe asks.

“That bossy tweet-stalker wanted me to try this drink but I shot him down.” I take a sip of the drink and minty freshness invades my mouth. I swallow and it’s the perfect combination of comforting and cool. “It’s good, I guess,” I reluctantly admit. The bartender hears me and sends off another wink in my direction.